right to complain of either: I do not mean merely the labour to
put things in the right point of view: but the moral effort to look
fairly at the facts not in any way disguised,--not tricked out by
some skilful art of putting things;--and yet to repress all wrong
feeling;--all fretfulness, envy, jealousy, dislike, hatred. I do
not mean, to persuade ourselves that the grapes are sour; but (far
nobler surely) to be well aware that they are sweet, and yet be
content that another should have them and not we. I mean the labour,
when you have run in a race and been beaten, to resign your mind
to the fact that you have been beaten, and to bear a kind feeling
towards the man who beat you. And this is labour, and hard labour;
though very different from that physical exertion which the uncivilized
man would understand by the word. Every one can understand that to
carry a heavy portmanteau a mile is work. Not every one remembers
that the owner of the portmanteau, as he walks on carrying nothing
weightier than an umbrella, may be going through exertion much
harder than that of the porter. Probably St. Paul never spent
days of harder work in all his life, than the days he spent lying
blind at Damascus, struggling to get free from the prejudices and
convictions of all his past years, and resolving--on the course he
would pursue in the years to come.

I know that in all professions and occupations to which men
can devote themselves, there is such a thing as com petition: and
wherever there is competition, there will be the temptation to envy,
jealousy, and detraction, as regards a man's competitors: and so
there will be the need of that labour and exertion which lie in
resolutely trampling that temptation down. You are quite certain,
rny friend, as you go on through life, to have to make up your
mind to failure and disappointment on your own part, and to seeing